XXXVIII

THIS WAS too good to leave alone. I went back inside the house. Passus was still in the Greek library. He had now sorted the remnants of the tangle of papyrus recovered at the crime scene into two piles, though he was holding a few extra scrolls and looking perplexed.

`Back again?' The new man had grown more used to me. He was joshing in a mild way, as the old stagers did. `Look, Falco, I'm having a problem with the last few of these. I think there are two different manuscripts without titles, and one of them seems to be in two different versions.'

I went right into the room this time. `What have you found then?'

`Well, I've worked out that those scrolls on the floor with the body were all authors' draft manuscripts. The handwriting tends to be illegible and some are full of crossings out. A lot are scrawled on the backs of old stuff too – and some have insertions cross-hatched on them.'

`They are not ready for sale. Chrysippus must have been deciding which to publish. He was reviewing them – then interviewing some of the authors. Make sense?'

`Yes.' Passus consulted a note-tablet. `I found some rejections among them. Poems by someone called Martialis had had scrawled on them, "Who is this? No – crap!" in red ink. And Constrictus – one of his regulars – had a submission where Chrysippus put "Usual fluff, Small edition; reduce payment."'

`Any good?'

`Sex and waffle. I couldn't be bothered to read it. The poetry was straightforward and I've just listed it. Now I'm stuck. But what's left is more my taste anyway.' He gestured to the untitled scrolls he was still trying to sort out. `Adventures; they have a romantic story, but the people spend most of their time separated and in trouble, so they never get too sloppy.'

I laughed. `You're a fan of Greek novels!' Passus looked offended, then went red. `No, I'm sorry. I'm not sneering, Passus. It's a change to' have some culture in the vigiles. Look, Helena likes a yarn.' Helena Justina read everything. `I want these with the missing titles to be fully evaluated. If you can carry on reading the one you've already started, I'll take the other scrolls home and get Helena to skim through – she's a very fast reader.'

Passus looked crestfallen. I told him with a smile that when Helena had finished he could have the scrolls back to read. He cheered up.

`Well, perhaps she can sort out the story that has two versions,' he suggested, quick to shed the most awkward job.

`I can try her with it… I'm going upstairs now for a word with the lovely Vibia.'

`I'll keep an ear out, Falco. If I hear a scream, I'll know you need rescuing.

`Watch it. You stick with that adventure scroll. It might even tell us something useful.'

A staircase led to the upper reaches from near the main entrance door. It was curtained off; until I had seen Vibia gliding up on her glittery sandals earlier today, I had hardly noticed it.

Nobody stopped me. I walked quietly, as if I had permission. Selfconfidence can take you a long way, even in a strange house.

There were various small rooms, frescoed yet not so grand as the ground-floor reception area. Most were bedrooms, some looking unoccupied as though they were kept for guests. One grand set of rooms, silent and shuttered, contained the master bedroom with the marital bed. If Vibia slept there now, she must feel like a lost little flea.

Eventually I found her in a smaller salon, propped up on a couchful of well-plumped cushions, chewing a stylus end.

`Writing! Dear gods, everyone's at it. I wish I had the ink-supply contract around here.'

Vibia flushed and put away the document. I wondered why she had been scribing it herself. `No secretary? Don't tell me you are composing a love letter!'

`This is a formal notice asking a tenant to remove his possessions from my property,' she retorted frostily. I chanced my luck and held out my hand to look at it, but she clung on fiercely. It was her house. I was an uninvited male visitor. I knew better than to force her to do anything.

`Don't worry; I'm not going to make a grab for it. Informers avoid being accused of assaulting widows. Especially young attractive ones.'

She was naive enough to let any kind of compliment soften her. Lysa, her rival, would never have fallen for anything so routine. `What do you want, Falco?'

`A private conversation, please. Business, regrettably.' I had lived with Helena Justina for three years, but I could still remember how to flirt. Well, I liked to practise on Helena.

`Business?' Vibia was already giggling. She signalled to her maids, who fluttered off. They would probably listen outside the door, but Vibia did not seem to have thought of that. No hardened campaigner, apparently. Yet perhaps no innocent.

She was sitting up now, with one little foot bent under her. I joined her on the reading couch. Cushions jammed themselves into my back; their striped covers were packed hard with filling, uncomfortably reminding me how Glaucus had pummelled me; I hooked out a couple from behind me and dropped them on the floor. A lavish carpet, imported a vast distance from the East by camel-train, waited to receive these discards. My bootstuds caught slightly on the fine woollen tufts.

Vibia had perked up, now that someone handsome and masculine had come to play with her. How fortunate it was that I had bathed and shaved at Glaucus' comprehensive establishment. I would hate any hint of uncouthness to offend. And we were at close quarters now.

`What a lovely room!' I gazed around, but even Vibia cannot have supposed it was the creamy plaster covings and the painted swags of flower garland that concerned me. `The entire house is striking – and I gather that you, lucky girl, have acquired it?'

At that she looked nervous. The smile on the wide mouth shrank a little, though the gash was still generous. `Yes, it is, mine. I have just made an arrangement with my late husband's family.'

`Why?’

'What do you mean, why, Falco?'

`I mean, why did you have to ask for it – and why ever did they agree?'

Vibia bit her lip. `I wanted somewhere to live.'

'Ah! You are a young woman, who had been married and mistress of her household for three years. Your husband died, rather unexpectedly – well, let us assume it really was unexpected,' I said cruelly. `And you were faced with the prospect of returning like a child to your father's house. Unpalatable?'

`I love my papa.'

`Oh of course! But tell the truth. You had loved your freedom too.

Mind you, you would not have been stuck for very long; any dutiful Roman father would soon find someone else for you. I'm sure he's surrounded by people he owes favours to who would take you off his hands… Don't you want to remarry?'

`Not now I have tried it!' scoffed Vibia. I noticed she did not argue with my assessment of her father's attitude.

I sucked my teeth. `Well, you had a thirty-year age difference with Chrysippus.'

She smirked – not sweetly, but viciously. Interesting.

`Everyone else thinks you were a schemer who stole him from Lysa.'

`Everyone else? What do you think?' she demanded.

`That it was deliberately fixed. You probably had little to do with it originally. That doesn't mean you objected any sensible girl would approve of such a rich husband.'

`What a horrid thing to say.'

`Yes, isn't it? Chrysippus probably paid your family a grand figure to get you; in return he acquired a connection with good people. His enhanced status was intended to help his son Diomedes. Then because Chrysippus gave so much to your father on your marriage -'

`You make it sound as if he bought me!' she shrieked.

`Quite.' I remained passionless. `Because the price was so high, the bargain absolved Chrysippus from leaving you much in his will. Just the scriptorium – not a thriving concern – and not even the house attached to it. I dare say, if there had been children, other arrangements would have been made. He would have wanted children, to cement the connection with your family.'